Say I, La Pucelle, the only way to help ourselves is to show compassion to our enemy….

Christ had been smote likewise, and who are we to claim we are His better….

Turn thy head, o France…

You set before me gold, lovely clothes and goblets filled with the finest wine of the continent.

You honor me by giving me a title and shout my name like a clarion in the streets of Rheims.

You call me beloved of God, an angel, or spirit that walks the Earth….

All these you do for La Pucelle, a common girl whose duty lies with the sheep of Lorraine…

I say to you who flower early: do not take pleasure with part of your pasture clear,

While the other two-third full is still beset by wolves and would be turncoats…

I have heard that the king goes through his coffers daily,

Figuring out what he might keep in abstinence from this war….

In the meantime, our soldiers are hungry, ill of supplies and in need of medical attention.

This army cannot function with only a one armed sword, and the other arm tied behind its back.

To go on, we must, but it is without virtue to leave the men, even when they pray, without temporal needs, supplied by only the wind as the reward…

I saw the young English soldier struggling to get up, his look wild with rigorous consternation,

He could not see me, for his head had received an ominous blow, cutting deep along one eye….

He was asking for assistance, whereupon none of our marching army stopped to help him.

Because he was part of the army of mankind, I stopped and gave him words of comfort.

Later on, when the battles cleared, he claimed that La Pucelle had given him his sight….

I saw the little Troyes chapel through the mists of late afternoon, and was exceedingly happy…

And as we entered in from the front, I could see that it was in a state of ill repair,

But, it being the house of God, we lightened our loads and said Mass with help from our priest.

The men, who were tired, did so only because I had insisted that we offer up our commitments.

Le Hire and others were happier once we had given our hearts to God, but in spirit, not words…

I am most comforted by Saint Margaret and Catherine, who are here often before me…

I see them dressed in gold, with crowns upon their heads, and they speak through the spirit..

When I have heard them, and spoken to them, I have often cried, to be so blessed while just Jehanne….

They have told me, "Jehanne, we are the ambassadors of Heaven, and you must listen to us."

You will not believe it, but I can see and touch them just as I can do with you, and it is grand!

MEMOIRES DE LA PUCELLE D’FRANCAISE

This pleasing mist, which travels over the ground, tingles through my flesh…

The answers without questions which come from the face in the mist gives more than happiness.

On the brow of my lady in the mist lies a star, which shines brighter than the sun…

It is Catherine, who comforts me with lessons from above, in the late afternoon shade.

The visage holds me speechless, giving comfort from the shepherd, who loves me as a handmaiden for His flock on Earth…

All of mine heart lies ready as the wheel, to traverse the roads of France for God…

I see ahead roads and roads, and at the end of them, troubles that must be given salve,

And the loneliest of wretches must be included in that salve, says my voices….

God has chosen me, a little stream, to bear the cascades of a roaring river,

But I shall bear those waters of care, and deposit them at the great ocean, with His help, along with any who hear my voice or believe it..

The arrow cuts through my shoulder, carrying with it the greatest pain I have ever known…

All of the faces of France showed fear, then concern,…and then anger, for my being smote so hard.

The cheers of the English, at the first sight of my blood, was as the hyena laughing for its dinner…

As I lay under the ladder, drenched in blood, I became resolved to take strength from this blow,

So much so that I told myself it should be as a second banner, not to alarm any who felt it too…

The dauphin is the heir by blood to the throne of France, and for better or worse he is chosen..

God recognizes His afflicted France and has gathered up its souls in His chalice…

He has said that for us to be as one, that I must lighten the load of the oppressed by leading His army…

It is easy to criticize a man, but if he were a man of God’s choice, what can you say then?

Willingly I subjugate my soul and body to God’s words, and the dauphin will accompany me to victory in but a second of God’s time….

I see that darkened figure with his scythe, alone, coming towards my table.

It is my old neighbor, Death, who knew me as a child in Domremy…

I cannot offer him my horse, for it’s got a rider, France, upon its back.

Yet Death needs no means for transport; it lies hard upon us, all around these woods…

If he would but take me, Jehanne, and free France from its enemies, I would be his eager guest….

But Death wants me too, and most of all because my soul lies unblemished without soil.

In my cell, I can see the trappings of man’s fears: blade, rope, gun and fire accost my human mind…..Alas!

I can see, inside my timeless eye, the soul of France falling, like a teardrop through the sky….

In a dark place I, Jehanne, am given a chair to sit upon, and to sign my life away by pledging crimes I have done…..Alas!

What dreams these may be will be realities tomorrow, when the executioner comes between the dawn’s first light and me….

I am such a light, one flicker and than gone, but all that France can see by, for this moment’s sight…

I have told my men to lie disciplined: to align their minds and bodies with God’s right….

And yet, soldiers are mortal, and, as such, are prone towards sin, but sins are like dead weights to our cause this day…

I tell them they must drink the blood of salvation and the bread of strength, and they grumble…

Only our savior can make France’s army strong, and that strength must grow through belief, which the men don’t understand.

Yet Charles knows and believes in me, and my men believe in me to the death, so they become as flowers, unwatered before, yet blooming with my hand…

If I did but doubt a second, that second would be a minute, and the minute an hour,

But, this feather that touches God’s beard can never doubt, for this feather is a part of the wing of His angel…

I am also likened to the rose, which lies sweet as licorice, and has petals made from God’s tears.

I am a growing rose, blowing free for France, and cannot doubt my own craftiness…

All doubt was erased when God came to me through his sweet angels, with their prolific voices…

I only am amazed at God using me as His instrument-a girl, tiny, meek and quiet:

Trouble for the English camouflaged in a comforting wrap…

What you see before you is a girl, nothing but a girl, not a Samson or a David.

If you would take encouragement from me, take it from my power of will….

If I did not tell you the truth, I would not be standing here in the face of death’s door….

Look at me: if I had not taken courage from my Lord, I would never have come to Chinon,

Nor tried to fulfill the ancient prophecy which came from the Dawn of Time…

And, if you truly believe in me, you will find a strength that has no better, for it is through God’s own zeal.

God’s enemies are alive on French soil, wanting to break our homes, bodies and futures….

I see a dark night, and lights parading in the distance towards the besieged Orleans…

When the enemy sees our progression along the river, they will turn white with fear,

As a dingo caught in the mighty lion’s lair would feel….

Yet, all in all, I bring peace to France, and not strife, peace without a dingo to fear…

A star projects itself in the firmament of Heaven, bright like the sun….

It is there where I go, upon release from my earthly mission, as promised by God…

It is that promise I bring each of you who would break bread with me before battle.

If you seek through the Father, there is the way for you, also, to His golden kingdom…

The knocking at the door and the dragging out of the children…. Setting fire to the thatched, earthen roofs…

The occupation of another country’s heart, so that it cannot beat its normal tick….

The bludgeoning of the land, which goes against God’s wishes, turns eyes to black, hearts to unbending stone…

This is the unforgivable rape of France, whose right to life was granted her by God Himself…

If I had no blood, no house, no soul, that is how I, Jehanne, would then live my life under the English, but this is not what I wish. It is rather what I rage against…

The mile long gates of Paris stand fast against our swords, till they break in the maelstrom…

The solitude renders our hearts useless, as the King has had us wait too long against the enemy.

Our blood stains the ground and flies through the wind, like rain water on a boulder, with no gain or succor to go on…

The assault of Paris is too hard, as we have little men and supplies, and what we have lies in a state of shadows…. We have lost the edge of surprise, which was our ally…

It is perhaps meaningful that this happened; it shall force our troops to take stalk of what went on before, and to force the king to listen to his pucelle a little better than before…

A moment surrendered to God’s tomes, His pleasing breath of kindness, and the pearly wisdom of His angels form my heritage, my love and fond desires on Earth…

The songs of the chapel ring in my ears, now as when I was a child, approximating the winds and blessings that abide in Heaven…

The right to do right for God’s cause here in France, makes the English risk a pesky bug on my hand, whose efforts I shall shake off by the strength of God’s sword…

Faith is the bulwark of my heart, whose guidelines are not of this world.

It is as the grass lying in abundance for the steed; my faith does feed me as well…For then I move, in a full strong body, regardless of time, day or situation…

Psalm 23:4

The thought that my body is naught but a transcendent device pities those who would torment me…

The renunciation of this human form to take another more wiser, is somehow strangely appealing…

And, as the morrow flashes across my eyes, and its portents for death, I think of all those golden summers in Domremy.

Fear is but a fan to calm my brow as I wait for the moment of departure on tomorrow’s salient barge….

And I shall fear none harm, for my Father is with me, and I trust my hand to His, before all others…

I saw a spot on my hand, and it had all of the revenues of life within….

This crumb of bread was my commission for another day on the soil of France, and was all I needed…

A drop of dew from my rose outside was all of the sweet nectar from God which I ever desired, so as not to waste…

I should not drown myself in foodstuffs when the Earth has so much more of substance for my heart…

One glance at the hill or dale, in a free France, would subdue me with such that a banquet never could!!….

A man who is free to walk the streets of Orleans or Liege without oppression rings true bells in my heart….

I would feel like a song, especially if no blood spilled, when that tune that I whistle spells freedom’s name….

And if it takes the sweat on thousands of brows to let us hear it, so sweet will be the toil….

No olive branch from God’s little dove can be obtained on a planet of war without Her blood falling, I fear…

But I would not have it so if it were not meant to be such; the truth will let us conquer tyranny, and surely make us free.

There is night, and there is day, and just as I am your pucelle, I tell you that a glorious day shall overcome night!!

In an instant, seemingly, what once was the dirge of death in our land shall become right…

There is night, and there is day, and just as I am your friend, I tell you that the enemy will realize they cannot rule the day, which we build in our hearts for Mother France….

Within seven years this land will be totally free, as angels of the Lord have told me this…

If you would invest in just one thought, invest in this: once a day breaks, in my name, it will share so much light as to fill the eyes and the hearts of France, until our patriots rush to the sea shouting freedom….

Those who would do war for the sword’s sake can have no friend in me,

For I have my men draw blood only as means to France’s rebirth, and not as a game……….

To see those dying in the trenches, even the English oppressors, excites in me a response of fear,

That the almighty would not exact me for it, should it not be a last respite to His kingdom…

When I look at a young soul, dying in his youth and splendor, I see a man with mine own face strewn with tears.

My father, who awaits in Heaven, has drawn many a tear over man….

He alone can give guidance at close of day, when man has overdrawn his welcome amongst the friends.

He alone knows and cares enough to keep us steadfast during this weary war….

If I had not the spirit upon me, when others assail my mission and wisdom, I would cough up my life.

But, in the valley of the beast, mine God comforts my eyes, and lets my tears offer up my love for Him, and France.

You ask, Cauchon, whether I am in the grace of God’s love?

If I was not, would I, a lowly maid, been allowed to do His blessing, to save Mother France?

And, if by some miracle I was not blessed, I would ask Him to make it so now,

So that whatsoever lives in me, known as beneficent, may grow to attend His flowers,

So those troubled enough and in need might take my sword into their heart of hearts, and kiss the lamb…

Once, upon the road to Beaugency, I attended a foot soldier overcome with the sword….

His wound was about 16 inch. right along his spleen, but so far, unattended.

I bent, as at His alter, and after a prayer, I kissed the wound, so that those in attendance could know mercy…

Although my doctors had called the gaping trauma mortal, I later learned the man, Declos, had lived,

And neither did he suffer more after my minute with him, but now is at our flanks again, which they say could not be.

Where Heaven is, I was assured that all with good hearts might assemble, just as at we gathered to the gates of Orleans.

My good angel Michael has given me assurance that a seat for me rests there, along with many saints….

It is for that reason, amongst others, that I turn my coat towards the roads and battlements of war…

In mine eyes, God has the voice from which I grow to live, each moment of each day,

And what latitudes I take, with His blessing, are the right ways to go, even unto death, however rigorous

I have dreamed often of Domremy, and its superlatives….

Yet, lest I be thought of as ungrateful for my charge,

I must say that home is where the heart rests, and mine is in Heaven…

I had troubles in my village, especially with Father,

Who would have me darn, weave and tend his sheep before all else…

Now, since my home has expanded, I do somewhat the same things:

I darn up the wounds of the French lost before the blades of England,

I sew together that fabric of man that can be entrusted with our future,

And I tend His people whom he has given forth His love, and His shepherdess……..

It is because of my innocence that I have been taken to God..

He has taken me, cradled to His hand, and shown me many magical things.

It is because I would be unsmitten with sadness and meanness that I was chosen.

No one may brag about his affiliation to God lest he was innocent of vanity,

Which I am, and as blest for it, I should remain with the sheep hidden by the worthy shepherd………

It is especially good to be kind, for kindness, like sugar, lies sweet on the soul…

If I could not be kind, I would surely lie removed from this orb,

To be dumbstruck and oblivious, lying otherwise in the heavens a-piece….

But I am struck to show goodness where ‘ere it is dismantled, and give love…

If those who I grant it to will not bring it to their hearts, I shall still do good for them in my absence………

Many times I have been asked why I have not married…

I answer with a slight tear, "I am married, but my love is only in spirit, and is above!"

Others say, "When you are gone, how will we know your progeny?"

I can only say that my virtues shall act as my children: hope, faith and charity…

They are sweet kindred, never far from my heart…. Can you hear them singing?

All through my land of Domremy there are many wonderful sights of nature…

We have deer in Lorraine, you know, speckled with white spots and owning beautiful fawns.

There are little ponds and rivulets, which sparkle like diamonds in the moon…

There is one special tree, our fairy tree, which I used to play around with my friends.

And, if you listen carefully, you can hear the pipes of an angel, since I have heard them on lazy afternoons…

My obedience is to God only, as His word is blessed.

For the little girl, Jehanne, lies smitten and mild before Him.

All colors, all values, all sparrows, high with hope, and the meadows flower before His word….

And night is suffered to be His ointment, His salve for us to replenish ourselves

Before the morn’s smattering ambiguities tickle our approaches………

My land lies oppressed, with its sky wan, its mood darkened by alligator attackers,